


If He's Got a Pulse, He's Not My Type

by sexiudreams (Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson)



Category: EXO (Band), Z.Tao (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Band, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Necrophilia, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Teenager Huang Zi Tao | Z.Tao, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombie Kim Minseok | Xiumin, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-06 06:43:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13405644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson/pseuds/sexiudreams
Summary: The zombie outbreak hit Asia before anyone knew anything; but this time, it wasn't like the movies. Zombies became "human" after a while, they could function, they could fit back into society. Zitao has always loved creepy things. That's probably why he goes searching for the zombie that breaks into his house instead of calling 119 like he's supposed to.--------I was listening to Not My Type: Dead as Fuck 2 by Motionless in White and this just appeared in my word document





	If He's Got a Pulse, He's Not My Type

Zitao had always liked creepy things growing up. At school, he was dubbed the weird emo kid, the one with the weird western bands on his shirts that were “work of the devil”, the one who always had black hair and an undercut, the frayed fingerless gloves that got caught on his lip piercings whenever he snuck a cigarette. His eyes were always lined into perfect ovals with eyeliner, some days, if he felt adventurous, wings would follow them. There wasn’t often a day where he never had black eye shadow on, making his eyes pop against the light grey contacts he wore just to look different in the god for saken school he went to. At the age of seventeen, he started working in a macabre store, selling weird shit like cat’s skulls – fake – and weird dolls that people would swore were haunted. He had his own doll collection from work, four pristine pale dolls, black hair, black dressed, that sat on a shelf in his room, observing everything whilst he wasn’t there. One of them sat with a camera in place of her eye, ever so delicately put there by Zitao when the outbreak had first happened. He didn’t trust anyone, and anyone in his room was something of a disaster to him. His room was kept a certain way and he didn’t like seeing anyone touching his weird talismans, his black magic pendants that were set up in the exact way for protection.  
  
Zitao always liked creepy things. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t freaking out watching the feedback from the camera in his room whilst he had been at work, a short man crawling through his window, thudding to the ground. A hole on his arm, growing blue moss around it, black liquid sometimes leaking out proving him to be a member of the outbreak, a zombie. Maybe Zitao liked creepy things too much, because anyone else would be freaking out right now. Instead, Zitao was smiling, smoking next to his open window as he observed the zombie on his laptop, prowling around his room. It reached out, tapped things, but didn’t move anything. It tapped each protective talisman, seeming lost, and looking for something to save it, when the sound of the front door slamming could be hear – Zitao, coming home. The zombie shot to the window, eased it’s way out of it and disappeared from the camera shot. He tilted his head and rewound the footage. The zombie wasn’t actually too bad looking.   
  
The zombie on his screen looked small. Judged from where it came up on Zitao’s posters, Zitao would say 5 foot 7, maybe up to 5 foot 9. His hair seemed frozen in place, probably stuck to its head, black hair with blue highlights through it. A tattoo was on its bare upper arm, looking like it had been tried to be pulled off. Blue moss sat around a chunk of it, the mark of a knife trying to cut it off evident beneath it. Its eyes were simple ovals, but more like cats eyes, something Zitao hadn’t seen on many zombies. Lips were pale pink, but plump. Zitao wondered if they were pale pink because it was dead or if they’d always been naturally pale. In life, when alive, it might have been an attractive man, someone that people fought to have, but now? Zitao looked away, looking at the street below.  
  
Since the outbreak of the zombie apocalypse, everyone had been shocked. After months of the first attacks happening, things started happening, things never thought of. The dead came back to life. Not in the scary, burst from the grave, give me brains way. Zombies started remembering who they were. They started functioning as a human again, if your body rotting whilst your brain worked on recovering memories could be considered functioning. Blue moss, grungy, disgusting dark blue moss started covering their wounds; scientists ran tests. The moss acted like scabs did on a human body, protecting the exposed insides from damage. They could learn how to talk again, and other than the scene of pale death and the scent of rotting, no one would know the difference. They still needed human meat in order to function, or after a while they would devolve back into the brainless, senseless, instinct driven creatures they were when they first rose from the grave. Recently, someone had made news by marrying her ex husband, widowed, but when he reanimated, became _human_ again, they had remarried and renewed their vows. Till death do us part, right?  
  
Zitao sighed and flicked his cigarette butt out the window, looking at the rows of people outside, filing down the streets. Cars were still rare to see, major companies like gas, electrics, internet, everything was still down, really. Zitao’s parents paid a small _fortune_ for them to have electricity, but internet wasn’t a thing he had access to. He wondered what the closest graveyard was called, where it was. He wanted to know more about the zombie that had broken into his house, and they had free wifi around town. He could look more into it, maybe hack an internet connection whilst he looked at graves. He snorted and jumped up, chucking his laptop onto his bed, pulling his leather jacket on. This was a stupid idea, but fuck it. If he got eaten, then he got eaten. He hesitated and pulled one of his charms off his shelf, hooking the thread around his throat. Probably wouldn’t work but it was worth it to calm the anxiety brewing at the back of his head.   
  
Zitao rushed downstairs and out the door before his parents could ask him, yelling he was going to see a friend, before they could grab him and waylay him, rushing down the street. Around the corner, he let himself slow down, kicking stones as he walked. _Living_ humans weren’t allowed in the graveyards any more. Humans got turned away if they tried to hike into the cemetery nearby their local churches. Mourning was done at home. Funerals weren’t made at grave sides any more – a few funerals being interrupted by a zombie breaking from its grave, biting and eating a few of those going to pay respect had shut that down. Goodbyes now were said in the church, in front of the casket, with armed guards lingering in the shadows with tranquilliser darts and stronger bullets.  
  
Zitao snorted and stopped outside one of his neighbours houses, leaning on the wall and sparking a cigarette. He pulled his phone out and hacked into their wifi, glancing up at their windows. No one was there to watch him, and even if they were, likely, they’d let him off. He used to do dance classes with their kid, before he got some fancy scholarship and left Korea. Zitao had almost gone back to China with all the drama with the outbreak, his family paranoid, until he heard from his still best friend since birth almost, Lu Han, that it was just as bad there. Lu Han hadn’t contacted him any more a few days after. Zitao wondered if they couldn’t afford the electrics and or internet, or if he’d just been one of the unlucky buggers bitten, maybe eaten. He snorted. He should follow up on Lu Han.   
  
The google searched pinged back to tell Zitao there was a grave yard near by, and he hoisted his jacket up his shoulders before heading on his way. It was only a seven minute walk away, and Zitao wondered why his parents had moved them there, _after_ the outbreak, to _get away from the zombies_. He wondered if the real estate agent had told them there was a graveyard practically in their back yard. Zitao would have found it cool in usual circumstances. Now? He finds it the coolest thing on the damn planet. Thinking on it, the zombie in his room must have come from there, he mused, seeing the church spire in the near by distance. It had looked disorientated, as though it didn’t know where it was – maybe it used to live in Zitao’s house. That would be really cool.  
  
Zitao stubbed his cigarette out as he got to the gates, wired shut and locked, and gripped the cold black metal to peer inside. Part of him expected alarms to go off, for someone to come running and throw him away, but nothing happened. He looked around. A few zombies were roaming, the blue moss across their arms or cheeks obvious. He looked left. He looked right. He shouldn’t do this. He hopped the gate.


End file.
